


You Will Be Found

by Bluerosewrites



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Peter Parker, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-12-22 21:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluerosewrites/pseuds/Bluerosewrites
Summary: Have you ever felt like nobody was there?Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?Have you ever felt like you could disappear?Like you could fall, and no one would hear?It's all too much and Peter can't keep himself from the edge tonight. He's tried SO hard to keep it together. For May. For Tony. For MJ. For Ned. But tonight? He can't convince himself that they wouldn't all be better off. That he could fall, and disappear, and no one would hear, or care. But is he right?TW: self-harm and suicide. Read the tags, lovelies, and don't read this if it will trigger you. <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I read another Peter hurt/Peter Parker needs a hug fic with this song as inspiration, but I'm not sure where it is.
> 
> Peter is NOT doing well, and while I promise he makes it, this is not a happy fic. If that's not good for your mental health, click away from this fic. 
> 
> Also, in this house Tony Stark survives Endgame but was recuperating during Homecoming and so that's how Mysterio was still able to get away with hitting Peter WITH A FRICKIN' TRAIN.

Peter doesn't remember when he_ started_ feeling this way. All he knows is it keeps getting worse. 

His state of mind after surviving Toomes burying him under a **_building_** wasn't _great_. That was when the nightmares started. The panic attacks. The erratic sleeping patterns. Peter doesn't remember if he bit his nails or left red crescents on the palms of his hands before Toomes or just after. 

The Blip doesn't help. He's so disoriented and trying to get used to how life on Earth apparently kept going while he and half of the world's population was trapped in the soul stone. 

Not to mention this summer's adventures with Mysterio. Peter just couldn't catch a break. He was _literally_ hit by a frickin' TRAIN. If Peter hadn't already struggled with feelings of worthlessness and dissociative episodes, he sure as hell did now. 

Which brings us to tonight. And the rooftop where Peter has sat, for an unknowable amount of hours. He's just _stuck_. Not able to convince himself to take the next step, but also not able to go home. 

He'd been out on patrol, doing his best to Do Good and Be Normal. He'd foiled some muggings, avoided getting stabbed by one of the attackers. You know, the usual. But his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't come up with his usual snarky trashtalk, and was only putting half of his energy into the fights. One of the would-be muggers had almost gotten away, and Peter had _almost_ not followed after him to track him down. Why was he trying so hard? Nothing really mattered. At least it felt like nothing did. He could spend 24/7/365 chasing after guys like this and the next day there would always be more. Or an alien race invading earth hell-bent on destruction and hostile takeovers. Or someone who was determined to seek revenge, not caring who they hurt or what they damaged in the process.

_What's the point of anything?_

Finally Peter just sat on one of the highest rooftops on his route and watched the world go by. The sky dimmed, giving way to night. But the city never slept. If anything, it got busier after dark. Peter let himself zone out while watching the traffic go by. Watched the streetlights come on and heard the hum as the city's nightlife got into full swing. After a while the noises of the night started to get to Peter and he realized he was still in the suit. Suddenly he couldn't stand to be anymore, and to _hell_ with the consequences. He ripped off his mask, ignoring Karen's entreaties into his well-being. He'd stopped listening to her hours ago. 

Peter took deep, gulping breaths of the cold air, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't get enough air. The suit clung to his skin, and he felt itchy all over. As quickly as humanly possible, Peter ripped the suit from his body, being forced to stand up as he did so to free himself from the constricting tech. He felt the icy wind bite into his exposed skin as he stood on the rooftop, shivering in his boxers. 

He made his way to the edge of the building, still taking care that he wouldn't be drawing anyone's attention. _Not yet_, he told himself. And he knew the thought should scare him. Peter was never one to give up, he always tried his best to find the silver lining. But right now he just _couldn't_. He was teetering on the edge of numbness in his soul. He was _tired_ to his very soul, deeper than bone-tired. Exhausted, really. And he didn't know how much longer he could fight the shadows in his mind. The whispers in the dark.

_You're not good enough._

_Why try?_  
  
_You're a burden._

_No one loves you. They're all just putting up with you. _

_You're an imposter. If they knew you who really are....they'd RUN._

_They'd be better off without you._

Peter took his arms from where they were coiled tightly against his abdomen to make two fists and rub them against his eye sockets. _Hard._ His body gave another violent shudder, but Peter didn't even feel the cold anymore. Didn't feel much of anything, really. 

_Is this how it ends?_ Peter thought to himself, _Not with a bang, but a whimper. Huh. Maybe that's what that writer was talking about. Interesting. _Peter knew that if he disappeared he would be missed. He didn't want to hurt May. Or Ned. _Oh, God, _or _Tony_. Peter closed his eyes and sat on the roof. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his knees, bringing his arms around his shins. There were _so_ many people counting on him, and he'd be letting them all down if he--Peter couldn't bring himself to think the words, but the idea was there. He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut and willed the tears behind his lids not to fall. He bit down on his bottom lip and tried to ignore the shudders racking his body. He knew not all of them were from the cold, but enough of them were. He didn't thermoregulate well after the Bite, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. _You don't deserve to be warm. That's a comfort, and failures don't deserve comfort. Honestly--_

_"_Shut _UP_," Peter ground out between gritted teeth. _Great, now I'm talking to myself. _He let out a humorless chuckle. _Just one more symptom to add to the rest of the crazy I've already got going on. _Peter could feel the harsh grit of the pitch on the roof through the thin cotton of his briefs. There was gravel stuck to the soles of his feet. _God, I'm a mess. Can't even do _this_ properly. _

Peter willed himself to stand. But his limbs were no longer listening to him. "Come on, Parker, get the _fuck _up. Surely you can manage that," the teen rasped out, but it was to no avail. He managed to stretch out his limbs, but remained in a seated position. Every joint from his shoulders through to his fingertips _ached_ from being held in one place for so long, and the pressure exerted to be wrapped around his legs. Eventually Peter was in a starfish position, as if he was going to make a snow angel there on the roof. He dragged his heels across the harsh surface and grabbed at whatever he could with his hands. It was painful, scraping his skin against such a jagged and _cold_ exterior of the building. But the pain meant he was feeling _something_, which both helped to ground him a bit as well as serve as enough of a punishment to shut the dark whispers up for a time. 

Peter stared into the sky as he continued to move his hands and feet, further chafing the skin there. He wished he could see the stars, but he was too far into the city to see any major constellations. _It would be nice, to see them one more time before I--go. _ Peter closed his eyes and tried to remember what the night sky looked like out at Tony and Pepper's cabin. _Oh, God. __Pepper. Morgan._ At the thought of Tony's _real_ family, Peter couldn't hold back the tears anymore. As he began to sob, he brought his grit-covered, bloody hands to his eyes and covered them. Salty blood mixed with the salt of his tears, and he didn't know which he could taste more. 

They say that when you're close to the end, your life flashes before your eyes. Peter just saw all of the people he'd lost. _His mom. His dad. Ben. _ And all of the people he'd _failed_. _May. Ned. MJ. Nick Fury. The Avengers--Cap and Bucky and Nat and Sam and Rhodey and Clint--and so many more. Pepper and Morgan. Tony. TONY. _At the thought of his mentor, Peter broke down even further. He'd failed Tony on so many levels. As a mentee, intern, and a son.

He was still thinking of Tony when Peter thought he heard the familiar sound of thrusters. _Wait. It can't be. Even if he knew where I was, Tony has been benched since the Snap. Recovering and such. _Peter couldn't bring himself to remove his hands from over his eyes and check to see if the mechanic was indeed with him on the roof. Because if he was, Peter was still a bloody, nearly naked _MESS_ on the roof of a building at God-knows what hour of the night. Might even be early morning at this point. 

Sure enough, Peter soon heard heavy, booted footsteps approach. Then the sound of the Iron Man nanotech disappearing back into the Arc Reactor and Tony hitting his knees beside the distraught teen. Peter hears a soft, "Oh, _kid_," and his hands are gently pulled away from his eyes. Which are still scrunched shut. Peter still isn't sure he believes Tony is here, with him, on the roof. And if he _is, _Peter isn't sure he wants to face him. So instead he sets his jaw stubbornly and keeps his eyes shut, ignoring the tears continuing to stream down his cheeks and the shudders still racking his body. He feels Tony's hand on his shoulder, and his eyes fly open, despite his best attempts to keep them closed. Peter bites his lip at the concern he sees in the billionaire's eyes. 

"Hey, now, shhhhhh," Tony mutters soothingly. But the warmth and the _kindness_ in his voice undoes Peter completely. He's openly sobbing now, and too weak to resist as Tony scoops him up into his arms. They rock back and forth, Peter contained within the strong arms of the mechanic, the latter whispering comforting words to the former until the kid's shudders subside a bit and his breathing slows. 

Finally the boy turns his tear-stained face toward the former playboy, roughly swiping gritty, bloody hands across swollen eyes. He lets out a long sniffle and then his lips part to emit a phrase at a volume Tony struggles to hear. "What is it, SpiderBaby?"

Peter tries again, "I said, are you _real_?" At Tony's answering sigh, Peter begins to draw back into himself.

"_Fucking_ Beck," Tony grounds out, Peter flinching at the anger in his voice, "Hits my kid with a damn TRAIN, among other things, and now he can't trust anything. _FUCK." _Once Tony notices the kid shrinking against him, he does his best to calm down. In a more subdued tone, he continues, "Yes, kid, I'm real. God, how can I prove it to you? What's something only I know? You think chocolate ice cream is the best way to counteract heartache, you've seen all of the Star Wars movies at least 200 times but you're not sure how you feel about the reboots, particularly Solo, you wanted to kiss Michelle at the top of the Eiffel Tower but were foiled, and plan to take her back someday to--" he's cut off by Peter's arms circling him in a crushing hug. "Ok, good, good," Tony murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into Peter's back. "Now, wanna tell me why you're in boxers on the roof of the tallest building in the city?"

Tony feels the teen stiffen beneath his ministrations. Peter draws back so he can see Tony's face once again. The philanthropist can see more unshed tears threatening to spill over his kid's cheeks. He sighs as the teen closes his eyes and takes one of the arms still flung around the mechanic to rub his eyes once more. Tony leans over and presses a soft kiss to the top of the kid's unkempt curls. "We don't have to get into it all now, but I definitely want to hear what's going on with you. What do you say to going back to the Tower, getting cleaned up and _warmed_ up, maybe some hot chocolate?"

  
Peter nods and lets out a big sigh. "Alright, Underoos, let's get that suit and head home. Happy's waiting for us down in front of the building. Neither of us should be flying right now." Peter nods again and the mechanic scans the roof. "Did you bring a change of clothes with you? Your backpack? Otherwise this is gonna be real awkward." The pair each let out a wry chuckle. Peter nods once more and points. "Alright, good, good. You get changed and we'll head down." 

While Peter changes and grabs his suit, Tony goes to the door to the lower floors of the building. To the billionaire's relief, the knob turned. He turns to find a gently swaying Peter behind him. Tony wraps an arm around the kid's shoulders. "I've got you, _bimbo_," Tony feels the boy sag in relief, and they make their way downstairs and into the waiting car. 

Happy's concerned eyes meet Tony's in the rearview mirror. "Where to, boss? The Tower?" Tony nods in assent as Peter's head falls onto his shoulder. He squeezes the shoulders of the wiry teen in comfort as Happy drives them. He presses a kiss to the crown of the boy's head, amongst the curls. 

Soon, but not as soon as either of the adults would have wished, they three arrive at the tower. Peter has fallen into a fitful sleep, so Tony scoops the boy into his arms bridal-style for the journey upstairs. 

"Do you want me to call Cho?" Happy inquires softly as he holds open the elevator doors.

"No," murmurs the mechanic. "I've got him for now. But I'll let you know. Thank you."

"You got it, boss," Happy says as the doors close.

Tony looks down at the precious boy in his arms. In the harsh light in the elevator, taking in afresh the dirt and blood on the kid. "Oh, _Peter,_" he murmurs. The boy doesn't stir as they reach their destination, and Tony is torn between letting him rest and getting him both cleaned and warmed up. Thankfully, the floor is empty at the moment, and Tony deposits his burden on the soft couch. He gently nudges Peter awake. "Hey, _bimbo_, what do you say we get you cleaned up and warmed with some food? Does that sound good?" Peter nods sleepily as he drags a hand across his swollen eyes. "Alright. I'll get some food and hot chocolate ready while you get cleaned up and some fresh clothes, yeah?"

The boy gets up and makes his way to the bathroom and his room here at the Tower to do just that while Tony bustles in the kitchen. Tony knows the teen is far from okay, but hopefully some carbs will help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm awful at finding where to end chapters lol. Not to worry, though, there WILL be more. <3
> 
> Fingers crossed Peter can get the help he needs. Although as survivors know, it's a daily, sometimes HOURLY battle for our minds and lives. 
> 
> Stay safe out there lovelies. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not a happy time with Peter, but as always, it ends on a happy, loving note. 
> 
> Don't read if mentions of harm or such thought patterns will trigger you. Stay safe, loves!

Tony sighed as he chopped some garlic in preparation for making pasta. he was going to make some shells with Alfredo sauce and broccoli. Simple, filling, comfort food. He thought over the night’s events. _Why didn’t the kid _tell_ me he was feeling like this? God _knows_ I’d understand. Hell, I’ve _been_ there. _Tony added the garlic along with a bit of olive oil and some salt and pepper and left it to simmer while he prepped the broccoli.

Once the garlic had sufficiently browned, Tony added some water to the pot and placed its lid on top so it would boil faster, in preparation for the pasta. _If Karen hadn’t called me.....aughhhh **WHY** did I schedule that update for tonight?! Who knows how many calls I missed before she got through?!_

On a deep level, Tony _knew_ that it wasn’t his fault, but the shadows of his mind wouldn’t leave him alone. They had stayed on the edges lately, like cobwebs, but with the kid--_his_ kid--in absolute _anguish_? Those dark thoughts and urges had taken a firmer hold, and a more central place in his mind. 

The mechanic let out a deep sigh as he added the shells to the water. There weren’t a lot of things he could be trusted to cook, but pasta was one of them. Tony smiled as he remembered his mother teaching how to make Alfredo.

“_Most people think that you need cream to make Alfredo. Most people would be wrong,” _she’d said with a wry but fierce smile on her face. There wasn’t a _day_ that went by that Tony didn’t mourn Maria Stark. He always kept enough butter and Parmesan on hand to make Alfredo for _all_ of the Avengers--Steve and Peter’s metabolisms included. Tony continued to chop broccoli as he added pieces to the pot of pasta--no sense in using more dishes than necessary. 

* * *

Peter stood in front of the sink. Just...._staring._ After stripping from his clothes and preparing to shower, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He didn’t realize just how _awful_ he looked. His eyes were bloodshot, the lids red and swollen. Dark, puffy bags hovered above cheeks scraped raw by gravel and smeared with dirt. his limbs had fared no better. His palms were crusted with blood, and his arms were caked with streaks of blood and muck. He had all matter of substances trapped under his fingernails. Peter turned and tried in vain to see his back. What he could see of it, and his chest and abdomen, were as covered in filth and abrasions as the rest of him. 

After a time, Peter was no longer staring _at _himself, but _through_. He didn’t know how long he was gone, but he came back to himself piece by agonizing piece. The teen realized he was staring into his own troubled gaze. His nails were leaving red crescents in his palms. Peter took a shuddering breath and resisted the urge to curl up on the bathroom floor. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and wrapped his arms around his stomach. The enhanced teen could feel new tears ready to fall from his eyes. They blurred his vision and they _hurt_. He wasn’t sure he _had_ any tears left but there they were.

Peter turned on the water in the shower and hopped in, pulling the glass door shut behind him. He gasped as the cold water hit his skin. Unable to keep the tears from flowing anymore, the teen sat in the flow of water as it steadily warmed. He wrapped his arms around his knees as his shoulders shook from his sobs.

* * *

_Some bread might be nice_, thought Tony as he finished chopping the broccoli. He added the rest of the broccoli to the pot of pasta and bustled around the kitchen, in search of bread. He found some leftover sourdough and tossed it on the counter, heating up the toaster oven. He found himself whistling an obscure tune as he stirred the pasta.

Having tested the shells and broccoli and found them to be satisfactorily cooked, Tony drained most of the water from the pot, using the lid he had topped the pan with earlier. Carefully stirring in the butter, Tony eyeballed how much Parmesan he would need. He grabbed the cheese from the fridge and grated it into the pan. folding it in to form a nice sauce around the shells and broccoli. 

The billionaire sliced the bread and added it to the warmed toaster oven. He removed the pot of pasta from heat and placed it on a trivet, replacing the lid on it to keep warm. _Wonder what’s keeping the kid? Sure been a while..._

Tony headed down the hallway. “Kid? Spiderling? Everything okay in there?” he called out as he walked. He rapped firmly but gently on the door. There was no answer but the sound of running water. “I’mma leave you be, but I wanna make sure you’re alright.” Tony waited a moment, but still heard no reply. “Pete?” Then there came a mighty **_crash_**. “**_PETER!”  
_**

* * *

Peter gritted his teeth and attempted to stifle his sobs. _Pull it together, Parker_. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew his body even tighter in on itself. He took as deep as breaths as he could, which, considering his position and frame of mind, weren’t very deep at all. He started to feel light-headed. _Alright. That’s enough of that. Come _ON_, Parker! You’re fucking SPIDERMAN_ _for crying out loud. _Peter’s eyes flew open and his jaw set in a stubborn, firm line. The teen forced himself to his feet. 

Despite the warmth of the water surrounding him, Peter’s body _shook_ with the fiercest shivers he’d ever experienced. It felt like every inch of his body was rebelling. And he was so _tired_. He lifted a trembling arm and leaned on the shower wall. Except, in his exhaustion and delirium, he used the wrong arm and was attempting to lean on the glass shower door instead. Peter’s hand slipped down the slick surface and he lost his balance. His feet went out from under him and his arms pinwheeled. The teen tumbled and toppled over--into the glass enclosure. With a **_crack _**and a **_crash_** he fell through the glass as it shattered into countless pieces. 

Peter lay there amongst the broken glass for a moment, dazed in the aftermath of the fall. He was vaguely aware of the door to the bathroom flying open and against the far wall, and hands ghosting over his upper body and scalp. “Mmmm--’kay,” he managed to groan out. Fingers were picking shards out of his curls and attempting to card their way through them. “Mmmmm. S’nice.” Peter murmured. He thought he heard a chuckle, perhaps a sigh of relief, but then everything went black.

* * *

Tony threw his shoulder against the bathroom door, forcing it open. It didn’t occur to him to try the knob. His focus was on getting to the kid--_his_ kid. “PETER!” The door slammed against the wall, Tony’s weight still against it. “Oh, _God_! Kid!” The billionaire picked his way through the shards on the floor, trying to find a bare spot near the teen.

Peter’s eyes were glazed over, his blinks slow and heavy. “Mmmmm....’kay” he slurred. “Oh, Underoos,” Tony murmured, picking shards out of the kid’s curls with care. The teen’s hands twitched as he tried to lift his arms to help. “No, no, shhhhhh. Stay still for me, kiddo,” Tony muttered, burying his fingers in Peter’s curls. It was hard to tell which wounds were from the glass and which from the rooftop episode. Either way, Tony needed to get the kid to Medical. But first, some clothing. 

Tony scooped the kid up as soon as he had cleared as much glass as he could from his body. There was a robe hanging on the back of the door. The mechanic snagged it and wrapped the boy up in it. His dignity somewhat intact, Tony took the teen into his arms bridal style and headed for the elevator. “Fri?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Can you please alert whoever is closest that I’m bringing an injured Spiderling up to Medical?”

“Certainly.”

“Thanks, Fri.”

“Drs. Banner and Cho will meet you there.”

* * *

“Tony, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not that kind of Doctor?” Bruce teased, the smile not reaching his eyes as he took in the state of the enhanced teen. 

Helen’s face was serious as Tony set down his precious burden. “What the hell happened, Tony?”

Tony let out a deep sigh and buried his face in his hands. “God, I wish I knew. I found him up on that roof--”

“A ROOF?!” Bruce and Helen cut him off in unison. 

“And then he fell through the glass door....” Tony trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, sheepishly meeting the stunned doctors’ expressions. He sighed, running his hands tiredly across his face before meeting their gazes once more. “I know, I know. Just---just fix it. Please?” The pair nodded and set to work. 

Tony held Peter’s hand, ran his fingers through the teen’s curls, whatever soothing things he could while the doctors worked on his kid. He wasn’t sure how much, if any, of this the kid could hear or would remember, but he wasn’t taking chances. He may not have been able to be there for his kid when he needed him, but he sure as hell wasn’t leaving now.

* * *

Peter awoke to the sensation of a thumb brushing across the back of his knuckles, another hand buried in his curls. He was on a soft surface, propped up by pillows. He smelled....burnt toast? Wasn’t that supposed to be the sign of a stroke or something? He sat up with a jerk, his eyes flying open, dislodging the hand that had previously been carding through his hair. 

“Peter? You with us?” Peter turned to face the man belonging to the voice. His brown eyes were wide with concern, crinkled at the edges with worry. The corners of his lips were drawn upwards into a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You had me worried, kid.” A hand was on his shoulder, and gave it a soft squeeze. “What do you remember?”

Peter thought for a moment. “I...was on patrol....” Tony nodded as the teen’s brow crinkled in puzzlement. “And then....” it all suddenly came crashing back. “Oh, _God_,” the boy’s eyes filled with tears and he brought his hands up to cover his face. “I’m so _sorry_,” he choked out. “So s-sorry.”

“Shhhhh,” soothed Tony, pulling the teen into an embrace. “It’s not your fault, and it’s gonna be okay. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I _swear_ it gets better.”

Peter sniffled and pulled his head up so he could see Tony’s face. “Yeah?”

Tony smiled down at his intern. “I _promise_.“ Peter swiped the back of his bandaged hand across his nose. “Now what do you say to some food? The toast is burned, but I can reheat the pasta.”

Peter brightened and pulled the rest of his body back so he was sitting next to Tony. “You know I’ll never say no to your pasta. And thank GOD I thought i was having a stroke or something because I could smell burnt toast.” 

Tony let out a guffaw. “Nah, kid, no stroke.” His expression sobered for a second. “You had to have some stitches, and have to take it easy for a day or so, but your _physical_ injuries should heal soon, according to the good doctors Cho and Banner.”

Peter looked sheepishly down at his lap. “Yeah, I’m sorry about all that. Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t thank me, kid, you clearly needed help and I wasn’t there for you.” Peter tried to swallow past the lump that was suddenly impeding his ability to swallow. “You should definitely thank those two, though.” 

Peter nodded, blinking back tears. _Hadn’t he cried enough today?_ “I will. But really, thank you, Mr. Stark. I don’t think I would have made it off that rooftop without you. Well. I might have made it _off, _but...” Peter trailed off, unable to meet his mentor’s gaze anymore.

“I know, kid. I’ve been there.” Tony set his hand on the teen’s shoulder once again in comforting reassurance.

Peter’s head snapped back up with a speed that gave Tony whiplash by proxy. “Really? You have? I mean, not that I’m happy you have, but, like, it’s nice to be understood? I guess is what I’m trying to say...” He fidgeted, picking at the skin on his hands that wasn’t currently bandaged. 

Tony took his hand from Peter’s shoulder and took the kid’s hands in it, using the other to tip the teen’s chin up and meeting his gaze once more. “Really, really. And I’m going to do my damnedest to be here for you. But we’re also gonna get you some professional help.” Peter let out a sigh and started to protest. “Nope. Not a discussion. I’m paying and I’ll even take you if I need to. This is important, Pete. Okay?” The teen nodded. “Okay. Now let’s get some pasta and watch some of those Star Wars films you seem to love so much.” 

Peter’s expression brightened and the boy nodded. Tony chuckled and started to get off the couch. Before he could do so, however, he found his abdomen was encircled by two skinny, bandaged arms. “I love you, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered into his chest.

Tony patted his back soothingly. “You, too, kid.” He pressed a kiss into the teen’s curls. “You’re gonna have to let me go, though, if you want that pasta.” 

Peter laughed and freed the mechanic. Tony was halfway to the kitchen when he heard, “I meant it, you, know.”

Tony turned back to face the couch. “I know, kiddo.”

Peter raised his head and met his gaze. “I love you...Dad.”

Tony smiled. It was something he’d never have asked of Peter, and not something he would have ever thought he wanted. But it sounded, and felt, _right. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ya have it. I don’t know that I’ll write any more for this one, but I certainly can if people are interested. I can’t seem to stop writing angst/comfort, though, so there will likely be more of that.
> 
> I don’t have medical or culinary training, don’t sue me over my lack of knowledge. I also don’t claim to be a Marvel or IronDad expert.
> 
> Hope you liked it! Leave some kudos or even some comments. Stay awesome, lovelies.


End file.
